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    A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel
    A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel
    A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel
    Ebook247 pages4 hours

    A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel

    By Jennifer Chiaverini

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    The Elm Creek Quilters are home for the holidays in this heartwarming Christmas story from New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Chiaverini.

    For the Elm Creek Quilters, the day after Thanksgiving marks the start of the quilting season, a time to gather at Elm Creek Manor and spend the day stitching holiday gifts for loved ones. This year, in keeping with the season's spirit of gratitude, Master Quilter Sylvia Bergstrom Compson Cooper is eager to revive a cherished family tradition. A recent remodeling of the manor's kitchen unearthed a cornucopia that once served as the centerpiece of the Bergstrom family's holiday table. Into it, each Bergstrom would place an object that symbolized something he or she was especially thankful for that year. On this quilter's holiday, Sylvia has invited her friends to continue the tradition by sewing quilt blocks that represent their thankfulness and gratitude.

    As each quilter explains the significance of her carefully chosen block, stories of love and longing for family and friends emerge—feelings that are also expressed in the gifts they work on throughout the day.

    As an early winter storm blankets Elm Creek Manor in heavy snow, the quilters find new meanings in their best-loved traditions and new reasons to be thankful. A Quilter's Holiday is a story of holiday spirit, in its truest, most generous sense.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSimon & Schuster
    Release dateNov 3, 2009
    ISBN9781439143148
    A Quilter's Holiday: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel
    Author

    Jennifer Chiaverini

    Jennifer Chiaverini is the New York Times bestselling author of thirty-four novels, including critically acclaimed historical fiction and the beloved Elm Creek Quilts series. In 2020, she was awarded an Outstanding Achievement Award from the Wisconsin Library Association for her novel Resistance Women. In 2023, the WLA awarded her the honor of Notable Wisconsin Author for her significant contributions to the state’s literary heritage. Chiaverini earned a BA from the University of Notre Dame and an MA in English Language and Literature from the University of Chicago. She, her husband, and their two sons call Madison, Wisconsin home.

    Read more from Jennifer Chiaverini

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    Reviews for A Quilter's Holiday

    3.5/5

    68 ratings7 reviews

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    • 4/5
      A Quilter's Holiday teaches readers more about the original and new Elm Creek Quilters. I particularly enjoyed Sylvia learning about what happened to her favorite cousin, Elizabeth Bergstrom Nelson; Gretchen and Joe Hartley being good stewards of their talents, and Gwen's mentor, Dr. Victoria Stark. I did not enjoy what Hank McClure did to Matt and Sarah, especially when Sarah is carrying his grandchildren.In chapter four we learn about the origins of Hanukkah, dreidels, and a couple of stories about the Italian gift giver on January 6th, La Befana. In chapter six we learn about bone marrow donations because one of the Elm Creek Quilters had a friend who came down with the lymphoma that killed her mother, grandmother, and two sisters.I don't quilt, but I enjoy the characters. Learning new things is fun, too.
    • 4/5
      Here's another Elm Creek Quilts novel. This is a Christmas book and features only the quilting camp staff with no students in attendance. The book follows Chiaverini's standard format of getting inside the minds of each staff member and giving her perspective on the happenings of the day. In this case, the quilters are snowed in at the manor the day after Thanksgiving. There's no murder or mayhem, just a little romance brewing. It's all charmingly done, making this a really pleasant read. It's probably one of the better entries in this year's crop of Christmas novels by well-known authors. There's nothing here not to like!
    • 4/5
      One of the best of her past few books. It was nice to have more time with some of the original charactes.
    • 4/5
      Older lady befrends young bride. Tells tails while quilting.
    • 3/5
      Once again, a make you feel at home book. and you don't even have to quilt to enjoy her books
    • 4/5
      A Quilter's Holiday, by Jennifer ChalverniHave read most of the other books in this series and enjoy not only the patterns but the friendship others get by coming together to sew for charity.Love hearing of the occupants of the house and what the latest is with their families.Thanksgiving tradition by sewing quilt blocks and why they selected that particular one..Quilting marathon and everyone has brought a leftover dish from the special day to share with all quilters that have assembled. Snow is due and a lot of it.Loved hearing of how to name a quilt and of the advent calendars-much like the one our kids when younger had.Loved learning of the importance of the 9 block and how many other things in our lifes correlate to it.Alternating chapters from those at the celebration talk about what's going on in their lives. So many mysteries and clues throughout.Auction of their items, proceeds go to food bank, so generous! Hate that the snow brings about a lot of tragedies....love hearing of the winter get together and where the proceeds for that go.I received this book from National Library Service for my BARD (Braille Audio Reading Device).
    • 2/5
      This is one in the series of Elm Creek Quilt novels by MsChiaverini. I enjoy this series because I love quilting. The character development though is rather 2-dimentional (while comforting if that makes any sense). In this novel, however, towards the end, the author attempts to hit us over the head with the evils of Thanksgiving (I kid you not) and the abuses of native Americans... It left a bad taste in my mouth.

    Book preview

    A Quilter's Holiday - Jennifer Chiaverini

    CHAPTER ONE

    Sarah

    ON THE DAY after Thanksgiving, Sarah woke to discover her unborn twins apparently engaged in an in utero kickboxing match to the accompaniment of her growling stomach. Propping herself up on one elbow, she reached for the crackers her husband had left on her nightstand beside a glass of water. She gently stroked her abdomen as she nibbled, taking care not to drop crumbs on the bed, and thought about the busy day full of friendship and fun awaiting her. It would be a quilter’s holiday at Elm Creek Manor, and as soon as Sarah satisfied her hunger pangs, she would drag herself out of bed and seize the day.

    Morning, Matt said sleepily, propping himself up to kiss her cheek and then her tummy, twice. His curly blond hair was flattened against his head on one side and his brown eyes were still half closed. Honey, I’ve been thinking . . .

    How have you had time to think? You just woke up.

    I’ve been awake for a while, lying here watching you nibble your crackers.

    Sarah held out a saltine. Want one?

    No thanks. I’ll wait to see what Chef Anna’s fixing for breakfast. Yesterday Jeremy mentioned that he was going to drop her off early on his way to Chicago.

    I’m afraid you’re on your own. Sarah carefully sat up against the headboard, drew her long, reddish-brown hair over one shoulder, and muffled a grunt as she leaned over for the glass of water. Jeremy’s dropping Anna off for our quilter’s holiday— not for kitchen duty. Sylvia insisted she take the morning off.

    After preparing that Thanksgiving feast yesterday, she deserves a day of rest.

    Sarah sighed happily, remembering. Although she had toasted the holiday with ginger ale rather than the California cabernet sauvignon her friends and family had enjoyed, for the first time in her adult life, she had indulged in a Thanksgiving feast without giving calories a second thought. I’m eating for three, she had responded cheerfully when her mother cautioned her against taking such generous helpings of Chef Anna’s succulent roast turkey and savory cranberry cornbread dressing. Green beans and butternut squash had never seemed more flavorful, and best of all, she didn’t have to choose between pumpkin pie and apple cake for dessert but took modest slices of both.

    Matt’s going to have to roll you upstairs to bed tonight, her mother had remarked. You won’t need to eat for a week. Carol had gained only twenty pounds in her pregnancy, or so she claimed, but Sarah had left that number behind long ago.

    Anna earned the time off, Sarah agreed, so it’s oatmeal or cereal for you this morning, honey.

    I’ll make up for it at the potluck lunch. Matt propped himself up on his elbows, motioned for her to scoot forward, and slipped his pillow between her back and the cold brass bars of the headboard. Husbands are allowed at the feast, right? Even though we aren’t participating in the quilting bee?

    Sarah smiled, but her gaze traveled past Matt to the window, where the light peeking below the curtains was thin and November gray. The weather forecast called for snow, but not enough to keep her friends away. You know the rule. Everyone who brings a dish to pass will have a place at the table, quilter or not.

    That wasn’t the only rule defining the Elm Creek Quilters’ post-Thanksgiving tradition. On the Friday after Thanksgiving, while others throughout their rural central Pennsylvania valley were sleeping in or launching the Christmas shopping season, their circle of quilters would gather at the manor for a marathon of quilting to work upon holiday gifts or decorations. At noon they would break for a potluck lunch of dishes made from leftovers from their family feasts the previous day. Agnes, Sylvia’s sister-in-law, called their dinner a Patchwork Potluck and said the meal befit quilters, whose frugality inspired them to find creative uses for leftover turkey, stuffing, and vegetables just as they created beautiful and useful works of art from scraps of fabric.

    Matt rolled onto his back, tucking his hands beneath his head. Do you think I can get away with bringing the leftover rolls as my dish, even though that wouldn’t involve any actual cooking?

    That’s a step up from the bowl of corn you reheated in the microwave last year, so I’m going to say yes.

    Watch it, sweetheart, or I’ll say something I’ll regret about how we’re lucky there are any leftovers to work with, the way you kept cleaning your plate.

    You sound like my mother. Usually that rebuke brought a swift end to Matt’s criticism, whether it was in jest or in argument. I’m eating for three, remember?

    Matt held his hands apart about six inches. Yes, but two of you are only this big. If you were feeding yourself and a pair of three-year-olds, I could understand the need for five helpings, but since it’s one woman in her thirties and two fetuses in their sixth month—

    Five helpings? Sarah protested. I stopped at thirds.

    Three helpings of dinner plus two of dessert equals five plate-cleanings. Then Matt seemed to think better of proving his point. But you ate healthy food and you’re taking great care of little Barnum and Bailey. They’re lucky to have you for a mother.

    Sarah laughed. Barnum and Bailey?

    Matt grinned up at her. Why not?

    They didn’t know whether the twins were boys or girls or one of each, and they didn’t want to know until the moment the babies were born. Most of their friends understood and respected their decision, but some of the Elm Creek Quilters hoped they would change their minds because, they said, it would be easier to make quilts and other gifts if they knew whether the babies were girls or boys. Diane was the most persistent in her complaints, as she was about most things. She was certain that Sarah and Matt had glimpsed the truth during one of Sarah’s ultrasounds but were concealing the secret just to be contrary, so she scrutinized the couple’s words and actions for clues. If Sarah preferred a pink fabric for a new quilt project, Diane triumphantly declared that the babies were surely girls. If Matt referred to one of the twins as he because he or she became annoying after frequent repetition and he hated to refer to one of his children as it, Diane gleefully teased him about giving away the secret. Always ready to give as good as he got, Matt began calling the babies various paired names, usually nonsensical duos that amused Sarah and drove Diane crazy. Sarah’s favorites included Sugar and Spice, Zig and Zag, Needle and Thread, and Bagel and Schmear. The joke became even funnier when Carol began to worry aloud that Sarah and Matt might seriously consider one of those alarming combinations. Perhaps she was right to worry. Maybe it was the hormones, but Sarah thought Barnum and Bailey had possibilities.

    Well, this ringmaster thinks it’s time to get this circus on the road. Sarah picked cracker crumbs from her nightgown and threw back the covers. I have to get started on my turkey Tetrazzini.

    Now?

    I want to get as much prepared ahead of time before my friends show up. Sarah’s stomach rumbled and one of the twins kicked. Apparently the crackers had made little impact. But I guess it can wait until after breakfast.

    It was only later, after she had showered and dressed and returned to the bedroom to find the bed made and Matt absent that she realized she had not given him a chance to tell her what he had been thinking about upon waking.

      •  •  •  

    ELM CREEK MANOR wasn’t the best place to raise children, Sarah reflected as she descended the oak staircase to the grand, three-story front foyer. The elegant balusters on staircase and balconies were too far apart for government safety standards and the gleaming black marble floor would offer a toddler unsteady footing and hard landings. Baby proofing would be a nightmare, but Matt assured her he would take care of everything. Sylvia Bergstrom Compson, Master Quilter and cofounder of Elm Creek Quilts, often reminded Sarah that generations of Bergstrom children had safely reached adulthood on her family estate, but Sarah found that small comfort. Once upon a time lead paint had been acceptable and seat belts optional, and although countless numbers of children had escaped injury, Sarah had no intention of repeating past generations’ mistakes.

    In many other important ways, Elm Creek Manor was an idyllic place to raise a family. The estate offered acres of forest to explore; a creek for wading, fishing, and tossing stones; a thriving orchard with trees to climb and apples to pluck; gardens for picnics and games of make-believe; and a broad expanse of lawn for running and playing, for crunching through fallen leaves in autumn, and for building snow forts in winter. Even when guests filled the manor, a quilters’ retreat throughout the spring and summer, there was plenty of room for playing hide-and-seek and many private nooks for curling up with a book or paper and crayons. Most important, the manor was home to Sylvia and other dear friends who would offer the children unconditional love and affection, and what helped children thrive more than that?

    She and Matt had so much to be thankful for in that season of Thanksgiving, Sarah thought as she crossed the foyer and turned down the older, west wing of the manor. Perhaps that was what he had wanted to tell her.

    Appetizing aromas wafted down the hallway from the kitchen, lingering scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, and fresh-baked bread and something new that Sarah didn’t recall from their Thanksgiving feast. She found Anna Del Maso at the stove stirring something in a large copper stockpot, her long, dark-brown hair in a neat French braid, a crisp white apron tied about her neck and waist.

    Good morning, Anna, Sarah greeted her from the doorway. You’d better not be making breakfast! Sylvia strictly forbade it.

    Anna threw her a quick smile over her shoulder. Don’t worry. This is for lunch. I’m only here early because the bus is running a limited holiday schedule, so Jeremy dropped me off on his way to Chicago.

    Sarah nodded. Yes, I heard. He’s going to see Summer.

    Anna nodded and turned back to the stockpot. She was too swamped with grad school work to come home for Thanksgiving, so he went to her.

    I thought Gwen said she’d made plans with her roommates.

    He’s her boyfriend, isn’t he? Wouldn’t he be welcome to join them?

    I can’t speak for Summer’s roommates, but I can’t imagine why not. Sarah watched a thin wisp of steam rise from the pot and inhaled deeply. That smells wonderful.

    It’s our soup course. Ginger pumpkin bisque.

    Sarah glanced into the pot at the simmering golden

    liquid as she took a paper sack of bagels from the breadbox. "Made with leftover pumpkin pie? Because I didn’t think there

    was any."

    Anna laughed. No, not leftover pie. Leftover pumpkin that didn’t make it into the pie. She set down her spoon, turned down the flame, and wiped her hands on her apron. Would you mind keeping an eye on this while you have breakfast? I still have a few more seams to go on my quilt block for the cornucopia. This is my first day-after-Thanksgiving as an Elm Creek Quilter and I want to get it right.

    Sarah nodded, but not without misgivings. No matter how often Anna assured her that she was a fine cook, Sarah was reluctant to risk ruining one of the talented chef’s marvelous culinary creations. The quilt block cornucopia is new to all of us, she reminded Anna. I don’t think you can go wrong.

    Anna smiled as she untied her apron, the dimple in her right cheek deepening and a sparkle lighting up her dark brown eyes. Sarah knew Anna considered herself too plump to be pretty, and she often wondered how her friend could be so blind to her own beauty. Even so, I’m not leaving that up to chance. You Elm Creek Quilters set high standards.

    "You mean we Elm Creek Quilters set high standards," Sarah called after her as Anna left the kitchen. Too often Anna forgot to include herself when she spoke of them, though as far as Sarah was concerned, she was no less a member of their circle than the founding members. Sarah hoped Anna would begin to feel less like an outsider as the Elm Creek Quilters forged new traditions, such as this one, inspired by a discovery Anna and Sylvia had made while remodeling the kitchen a few weeks before.

    The kitchen in the west wing of Elm Creek Manor had been built in 1858, and when Anna was offered the chef’s job in August, she couldn’t hide her concern regarding its condition. Sarah didn’t have to be a professional chef to understand her dismay. Not a single appliance was post-1945 except for a tiny microwave on the counter, possibly the first ever invented by the look of it. Poor lighting, battered utensils, broken stovetop burners—the list of necessary repairs went on and on. The Elm Creek Quilters had managed to feed an entire quilt camp three meals a day by adapting to what Sylvia referred to as the kitchen’s charming quirks, but none of them expected someone with Anna’s experience to endure such conditions happily, and no one was surprised when Anna made the promise of a total remodel a prerequisite for accepting the post. Fortunately, Sylvia agreed that drastic improvements were long overdue, so after the camp season ended, contractors transformed the kitchen by knocking out a wall and expanding into an adjacent sitting room, then hauling away the old appliances, counters, and cabinetry, and replacing them with everything on Anna’s wish list. Privately Anna had confided to Sarah that she had not expected Sylvia to do half of what she had requested and she would have settled for less. Sarah had laughed and told Anna that as she would soon discover, Sylvia never did anything by half measures.

    Before the contractors could begin, Sylvia and Anna had been obliged to clear every cabinet, cupboard, drawer, and pantry shelf, sorting useful items from clutter that should have been discarded long ago. As they worked, they discovered cherished Bergstrom family heirlooms: an old gingham tablecloth, a great-aunt’s collection of feedsack cloth aprons, Sylvia’s mother’s favorite cut glass serving dish, and a Thanksgiving cornucopia Sylvia’s sister, Claudia, had woven of straw as a schoolgirl.

    As Sylvia told it, the cornucopia, dilapidated from years buried under a pile of tablecloths in the back of a cupboard, had been the centerpiece of the Bergstrom Thanksgiving table every year from the time Claudia had brought it home from school. When the Bergstroms gathered for the holiday feast, each member of the family placed something in the

    cornucopia—a small object, a drawing, a letter, anything small enough to fit inside would do as long as it represented what that person was most thankful for that year. Sylvia’s mother had always placed a picture of her family inside the centerpiece, while Sylvia’s father had usually selected something like an apple or a horseshoe to signify the abundance of their farm. The children’s choices were often more amusing if no less heartfelt—trinkets, toys—but everyone from the youngest toddler to the eldest grandparent added something. After the meal, the family removed the items from the cornucopia one by one as the person who had chosen each one explained what it symbolized and what he or she was most grateful for that year.

    Upon discovering her late sister’s long-forgotten craft, Sylvia had been inspired to revive the tradition, but with an important change appropriate for a gathering of quilters. Where the Bergstroms had used pictures, letters, or small trinkets, the Elm Creek Quilters would create quilt blocks, each stitching one that either by name or imagery represented something for which she wished to give thanks. As they enjoyed their Patchwork Potluck, they would share their stories of gratitude, the inspiration for their handiwork.

    For Sarah there had only been one possible choice.

      •  •  •  

    SARAH FINISHED HER breakfast and started putting together her perennial contribution to the potluck, turkey Tetrazzini, occasionally stirring Anna’s ginger pumpkin bisque and glancing out the window over the sink to the back parking lot for the arrival of her friends. She was grating the mozzarella when Gretchen entered, her black cardigan buttoned over a crisp white blouse, the formality of her plum corduroy skirt offset by her comfortable fleece slippers, their size exaggerated by her thin ankles. Nothing that smells so yummy could possibly be made from leftovers, Gretchen exclaimed, savoring the aroma. Is Anna here?

    Of course. You don’t think I’m responsible for something so complicated as ginger pumpkin bisque, do you?

    I’m sure you could whip up something just as tasty if you had the recipe, said Gretchen loyally, opening the refrigerator. She was in her mid-sixties, with steel-gray hair cut in a pageboy and a slender frame that Sarah thought seemed chiseled thin by hard times. Still, Sarah had noticed that Gretchen’s careworn look had improved considerably since she had accepted the teaching position with Elm Creek Quilts and had moved into the manor with her husband. Joe, who endured lingering effects from a serious injury he had suffered years before as a steelworker in Ambridge, enjoyed restoring antique furniture in the woodshop he had set up in the barn and occasionally assisted Matt with his caretaker’s duties.

    It would take more than a recipe or an entire collection of recipes to put me in Anna’s league, said Sarah, filling a pot with water, setting it on a back burner, and turning on the flame.

    It’s true that Anna has a gift. Gretchen searched through the refrigerator, taking out plastic containers and lifting the lids to check the contents. I’ve been feeling quite spoiled ever since I came to live here, having so many of my meals prepared by a professional chef. You weren’t going to use the leftover green beans and stuffing, were you? I thought I’d make a three-bean casserole.

    Mmm, sounds yummy. They’re all yours. Sarah thought wistfully of Summer, a vegetarian, who often brought a three-bean salad to their potlucks but would not be joining them for the first time since they had begun their day-after-Thanksgiving tradition. Summer was closest in age to Sarah of all the original Elm Creek Quilters and her best friend among them except for Sylvia, who would always hold a unique place in Sarah’s heart. Probably the only Elm Creek Quilter who missed Summer more was Gwen, her mother.

    Sarah kept her ears tuned for the sound of cars approaching as she and Gretchen worked on their dishes. After a few moments, Gretchen broke the silence by saying absently, I wonder what everyone else will contribute?

    Gwen will bring a dessert because she always does, said Sarah, draining the cooked pasta in a colander in the sink. Diane will bring something healthy or something that looks suspiciously new, and then she and Gwen will spend ten minutes debating what percentage of the dish has to be leftovers in order for it to meet the requirements.

    Gretchen smiled as if she had no doubt Sarah’s predictions would prove true. I was thinking aloud, she said. I should have been more clear. I was wondering what quilt blocks everyone has made for the cornucopia, and what they’re most thankful for. I had so much to be grateful for this year I had a difficult time choosing only one. And that, I think, is the sign of a very good year.

    Sarah agreed, but privately she wondered if Gretchen’s trouble selecting a single quilt block said more about her indomitable spirit and appreciation of

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